Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Monsters
by Absolutely Corrupted
Summary: Trauma, especially psychological trauma, can wreak terrible damage. Side-effects like flashbacks, emotional instability, and depression aren't at all uncommon. Following my mother's brutal murder, I had another result. Sudden and complete recollection of my previous incarnation...It's really too bad everything I remember about this world has already come to pass. SI!fem!Adam
1. Chapter 1

**1:08am – October 11** **th** **, 2009**

 **Windom, Minnesota | Addison**

 _Is this real?_ I stare at my reflection in the mirror, looking for anything that might show me otherwise. Nothing stands out. I look exactly the same as I did a week ago. Hell, I look the same as I did a lifetime ago.

I'm out of ideas. I've tried pinching myself, slapping my cheeks, and holding my breath – nothing changes. This is real.

 _Mom is dead._ The realization washes over me, draining me of whatever energy I'd had left. _She's dead._ My knees buckle and only my white-knuckled grip on the sink keeps me from sinking to the floor. Even an extra lifetime's worth of memories can't distract me from this brutal truth.

A pressure builds behind my eyes and I can tell I'm about to have some sort of breakdown. I'm just about to give in to the feeling when a knock sounds, startling me out of it. "Addison? You okay in there?" It's the female police officer from before, Francine-something.

"I'm fine," I call through the door, voice cracking. "I'll just be a minute."

"Okay, just checking. Let me know if you need anything."

 _A sedative would be nice right about now._ The thought comes unbidden and I frown at my reflection. _No, Addie. No drugs, no alcohol – you know what that does to people like you._

I quickly wash my hands, then my face for good measure. All too soon I'm done patting myself dry, left with no other option than to leave the relative safety of the Porter's tiny bathroom.

"Feel any better?" My escort is leaning against the wall just outside the door, reading something on her phone. I shrug in response and she just nods before tucking her phone away and leading me back to the kitchen. We take our seats at the table with her middle-aged partner. Francine does all the talking. She gets my full name, my age, the school I attend, and all sorts of random, irrelevant information.

For my part, I answer robotically, feeling myself disassociate more the closer we get to talking about the actual attack. By the end, I'm actually a little uncertain if I've answered her at all. Still, she and her partner get up to go – assuring me that their fellow officers will be stationed on the street outside. They leave me in the care of my neighbors.

Liam Porter stays in the living room with his brother Chris, watching the doors and windows with his shotgun in his lap. His wife, Becky, gives me clothes to sleep in and helps me get ready for bed. She tells me to wake them if I need anything and begs me to try to rest. I just nod at her, unable to speak.

Sparing me one last worried look, she disappears down the hall.

To my surprise, sleep finds me easily. Not so surprisingly, I'm plagued with strange and uncomfortable dreams. I wake up gasping a grand total of six times, finally giving up altogether when the sky outside begins to lighten. _Finally._

My relief is short-lived. Unbidden, memories from the night before begin to surface.

 _CRACK! The sound of splintering wood heralds the destruction of my bedroom door. My mom and I grip each other's hands and cower from the two figures responsible._

 _"_ _Hello ladies." The hulking man in the doorway is smiling from beneath his matted hair while his companion glares over his shoulder. "Do you feel like dying?"_

 _"_ _St-Stay back!" My mother pushes me behind her and glares at the intruders. "We've already called the cops. They'll arrest you if you don't leave now!"_

 _"_ _Aw. Y'hear that? She thinks a couple of cops will scare us off." The man laughs heartily and grins at my mom. "Trust me, we're out of their league." He glances back at his companion, suddenly all business. "I'll get Winchester's bitch. You can have his spawn."_

 _Without another word he lunges, knocking my mom to the floor. I shriek and take an aborted step towards her before the second man draws my attention. He's smiling – no,_ beaming – _at me. Unlike the other one, he doesn't rush me. I chuck something at his head that he easily sidesteps. He's moving slowly, purposefully. "I think I'll start with your breasts," he says conversationally. "They're my favorite. All that fatty tissue… Mm." He continues to approach even as I scramble backwards over my bed. "You know, I haven't eaten live flesh in_ years _," he confides. "Too afraid that damn hunter would hunt me down like he did my father."_

 _At some point during his drawn-out approach my mother started shouting and screaming, but I can't tell what she's saying; I'm too preoccupied with the immediate threat this cannibal poses. He's made it around the bed now and he's still speaking. "-have to hold back any more. Eating you will both satisfy my hunger and provide the perfect opportunity to kill Winchester once and for all."_

 _I've backed into the ironing board and have nowhere else to go. The freak in front of me is too close for comfort, only an arm's length away. He reaches out with a grimy hand and I lose my cool, turning away and grabbing the first thing I see–_

"Addie!"

I'm pulled from the memory with an aborted scream lodged in my throat.

Gentle hands pull my fingers away from where they're digging into my upper arms. "Shh! Addie, it's alright! You're okay!"

"…Becky?" My voice is raspy and low. I look up to find my kindly neighbor worriedly checking me over. Suddenly, my confusion clears as I remember that I'm using her guest bedroom after the events of the night before.

"Oh sweetie," she sighs. "Why don't you take a hot shower? I'll bring you some clothes to change into."

"Okay," I whisper, feeling moisture gather in my eyes. I'm so _relieved_ that she doesn't feel the need to ask if I'm okay. I'm not okay – I might not _ever_ be okay.

Becky leads me to the bathroom and starts the water. Then she helps me undress before all but pushing me under the spray. "Wash up," she orders. "I'll put your clothes on the counter."

I mumble something affirmative and lose myself in the sensation of hot water pounding against my back. It's mind-numbing and very, very welcome. I go through the motions of cleaning up, not really paying attention to the actions (muscle memory is a wonderful thing).

The peace doesn't last.

Inevitably, my thoughts return to last night, though this time at least I'm not sucked into a flashback. Instead, my mind focuses on the sounds, on everything I'd heard and said. It's still awful, but the lack of immersion in the memory means my mind is capable of making associations with other, older memories… Memories I have no idea what to make of.

They'd been confusing enough in the aftermath of the attack, but what they're telling me now makes absolutely no sense. Why is it that I suddenly recall an entirely different lifetime? And why do my thoughts keep circling back to the John Winchester in that silly TV show? Surely it's just a coincidence that my biological dad shares a name with a fictional character from my first life!

…They'd called him a _hunter_ , though.

"No," I say aloud. "It can't be real. I'm just delusional with grief." It's a good explanation; it makes sense. Unfortunately, I can't bring myself to accept it. Things start adding up.

One, my name is Addison Milligan – which isn't too far off _Adam_ Milligan. Two, my biological father's name is John Winchester and he sometimes drives a Chevy Impala. Three, my mom was killed by a freakishly strong guy who ate people and said he had a grudge against _my_ father for hunting down _his_ father.

Other than my gender and the slight name change, everything matches a little too well.

 _Shit._ I press my forehead against the cool tiles to my right and try to lose myself in the physical sensations of the shower. It helps me calm down enough to consider what this means.

I'm still in danger, obviously. One of those things is still after me and if it _is_ some kind of monster there's no way the police will be able to help me. I need to find a way to hide from it or kill it. In order to do that, though, I'll need help.

 _Who?_ My mom's parents have been dead for years and I don't have any other family. Well, I have the number John left in case of an emergency, but if what I remember from the show is true, he's already dead.

Speaking of, I don't even know which part of the show I've landed in. In my past life, I'd only ever fully and chronologically watched the first two seasons. After that I'd only caught a few episodes here and there. I hadn't watched them in order and I'd certainly never made it past season four. In fact, I'm not even sure which season Adam shows up in! Is it season three? Four? Has Dean already gone to Hell? Or does he still have some time before the hellhounds come?

 _Damn._ All I know for sure is that my canon counterpart was killed by the very same monsters that attacked me and my mom. It's not exactly a comforting thought.

Of course, there's always the chance that my gut instinct is wrong and the whole past-life-with-a-show-about-the-world-I'm-currently-living-in thing is a delusion. I doubt it, but I can't discard the possibility.

I need some way to know for sure – _but how?_

The question hangs over me and I spend more time than I need to rinsing off. I close my eyes and try to come up with a solution, but it's only once I've run out of hot water that an idea strikes.

I shut off the water and curse my obtuseness. It's _obvious._ In the show, the imposters called John's number – the one they stole from Adam – and got the Winchester brothers instead. All I have to do is call that same number and _BAM!_ I've got two experienced hunters to get me out of this mess.

It's practically foolproof. Even if I'm wrong and the Supernatural stuff is all in my head, all I have to do is call the number. If John answers and I find out I'm not in a damned TV show, I'll still have someone who can help me.

Relieved to finally have something to _do_ , I dress in the clothes Becky left out for me and hurry downstairs.

I need to find a phone.

* * *

 **Gas Station off of I-70 in Pennsylvania | Dean**

 _Briiinng. Briiinng. Briii-_

Dean flips the old phone open and presses it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Oh thank god," the voice on the other end breathes. "Please, John, I need help – they got my mom and I think the one that escaped is still after me! The police have no idea who they are and I-"

"Woah," Dean cuts the girl off. "Slow down a second. Who are you and how do you know John?"

There's a pause, then- "Damn it!" She curses. Dean hears a muffled noise (a sob?) on the other end of the line. "Is-" she clears her throat. "Is he around? Can you get ahold of him? It's an emergency." She doesn't wait for an answer. "I'm in some serious trouble – tell him it's Addison Milligan. He'll want to know."

Dean blinks a little in surprise. "Sorry to be the one to tell you this, but John's dead. Has been for over two years."

"Hey, isn't that Dad's old phone?" Sam asks, having just walked over with a bag of groceries.

"Shh!" Gesturing his brother closer and pressing the button to turn the speaker on, he waits for her answer.

"…He's dead?"

"Yeah," he answers cautiously.

 _"_ _Fuck."_ The expletive is hissed with all sorts of feeling.

Dean exchanges a look with his brother. Their dad wouldn't have given his number without a damn good reason. "Look, give us your name and someplace to meet. My partner and I will try to help."


	2. Chapter 2

**8:42am – Oct. 12** **th** **, 2009**

 **Sully's Diner | Addison**

"Addison?" Sam Winchester's voice interrupts my staring contest with the faded tablecloth. "Can you tell us what happened?" It's the second time he's asked.

I blink rapidly and refocus my attention on the man. "Yeah, sorry. I've been out of it since-" I falter, unable to get the words out. Luckily, the brothers across from me seem willing to wait. "Since she died," I manage finally.

Sam's frowning sympathetically and Dean is just plain frowning. Somehow, it's the second expression that firms my resolve. The story comes tumbling out. "It was late. Ten, maybe eleven. I'd just gotten home for fall break. My mom she-" my voice cracks, "She was so _excited_ to have me home. She'd even taken off work so we could hang out." I glare down at my hands. "…We never got the chance."

 _Facts, Addie. Stick to facts._

"Anyway, I was still unpacking and my mom was getting ready for bed. I didn't notice anything, but apparently my mom heard footsteps. She came into my room, locked the door, and told me to call the police.

"She thought we were being robbed." I don't bother to hide the bitterness in my tone. "I was on the phone with the operator when they finally broke down the door. They said they'd come to kill us. I was frozen, but my mom, she moved in front of me with her arms spread wide. Told them to get out and that the cops were on their way. They _laughed,_ " I confess shakily. "Like they didn't even care."

The men across from me stay silent and I continue on in a stronger, flatter voice. "One went straight for my mom – wrestled her to the ground between one blink and the next. The other one came for me."

Dean speaks for the first time since my arrival. "How'd you get away?".

I shrug. "I threw something at him. My phone, maybe. I don't really remember. All I know is that it didn't work. He started talking, telling me what he was going to do to me, why he was doing it, and how he was going to _eat_ us." A slight shudder runs through me before total apathy finally takes over. I embrace it. "I panicked." My voice is suddenly eerily calm and Sam looks taken aback; Dean's expression is still unreadable. "I grabbed the nearest thing and smashed it into his head when he tried to touch me.

"It was a clothes iron, still burning hot – I'd been using it as I unpacked my suitcase and put away clothes," I explain, settling my gaze somewhere in the distance. "The first few hits didn't really do much," I admit. "It was weird, like he had really thick skin. Still, I didn't have any other ideas, so I hit him again and again and _again_ until he finally stopped moving. There was _so much blood_." My hands twitch at the memory and the two men across from me flinch in response. "Sorry."

"It's fine," Sam assures, looking a bit shaken. "What happened next?"

"That's when my mom stopped screaming. She just-" I pause, start over. "The whole time, she'd been screaming and crying, trying to fight off that _thing._ And then suddenly, she stopped. That was when her attacker noticed what I'd done." Enraged didn't even begin to describe how he'd looked then, standing over my mother's body. "He chased me – threw my bed clear across the room just because it was in his way… That's when my neighbor arrived with his shotgun. He'd heard the noise through my open window and ran right over with his brother. The bullets didn't seem to slow him down any, but he jumped out the window and escaped instead of fighting us all off."

The silence stretches.

"So how'd you know to call John?" Sam asks eventually. "Why not trust the police to help you?"

I know he's just feeling me out, trying to get more information, but the careful way he says it irks me. The apathy I've been feeling is abruptly replaced with barely restrained anger. "I'd have gladly left it to the police, if the creatures attacking hadn't been flesh-eating monsters looking for revenge against John Winchester the _Hunter_."

Sam's mouth drops open. "Oh."

"Yeah, 'oh.'" I repeat sarcastically.

"Wait a minute," Dean narrows his eyes at me. "Why the hell would someone go after you and your mom to get revenge on John Winchester?"

I fight to keep the surprise off my face. ' _Did I really not mention…?_ ' I think back to the frantic phone call I made. I'd been pretty fucked up, both from my mother's death and the looming existential crisis. I remember begging for help, mentioning my mother, and giving my location… _'Guess not,'_ I realize. _'They came because I said I was in danger – not because I'm supposedly their half-sister.'_

Now that I know it's an option, the idea of keeping everything under wraps appeals to me. This world may have been a show in my past life, but it's real now. I don't want to die again. Hell, I'm already supposed to be dead! The creatures were supposed to kill me and my mom _both_ , then trick the brothers into coming out. Keeping my distance is really the only way I'm going to survive long enough to hit my twenties.

Still, I don't particularly want to lie. "He and my mom had an on-and-off sort of relationship," I say truthfully, praying that it doesn't come back to bite me in the ass. I suppose I could say it was an unintentional omission, if it comes down to it. I only know they're John Winchester's sons thanks to my messed up memories. Without that knowledge, I really might have left that information out – it was a touchy subject to get into with two strangers.

There's a startled pause after my revelation, then- "Bullshit!" Dean hisses. "I don't believe you."

"And I don't care," I hiss back. "It doesn't matter what you believe or don't believe, just that you help me kill this thing before it kills me!"

"Look," Sam interrupts. "Maybe we should take this somewhere else? People are starting to stare." He nods to the other tables and the curious stares our quiet but heated exchange has drawn.

"We can head back to my house," I offer reluctantly. "The police finished with it yesterday."

"Where whatever got your mother can get us? I don't think so." Dean exchanges a look with Sam. "We'll go back to our motel."

Shrugging, I toss some money down and follow them outside. My car keys are already out and in my hand, but before I can unlock my car and make to follow, the brothers steer me towards theirs. "Sorry, we'll bring you back to get your car later – it's best if you come with us for now."

"Sure." It's not like I'm about to argue with the men I'm relying on to save my life. I climb into the backseat of the car – the one I learned to drive in – and try not to wring my hands. "This is really strange," I say, when neither of the brothers make to speak. "I mean, here I am, getting in the car with two strangers so that I have some chance of surviving a monster I didn't even know existed until last night!" Not to mention I've been putting off the inevitable freak-out that comes with learning my entire world is based off of a _TV show_. "…Oh god, I think I might be losing my mind."

The boys don't respond and I spend the rest of the ride with my head buried in my hands.

* * *

 **Super 8 Motel | Sam**

"Here, take a seat," Sam says, leading Addison to one of the beds. "Dean and I are going to ask you a few questions so that we know what we're looking for."

She nods and sits down without protest. Sam fights the urge to reassure her. She looks as dazed as she'd been when she recounted how she'd killed one of the intruders. Still, first things first, "What did they look like?"

"Well," she says with a frown, "Pretty normal actually. One was Caucasian and kind of portly, the other was Asian and really tall. The only thing that stood out was the fact that they were both really dirty, with matted hair and rumpled clothes. That's all I really remember."

"And you said they were flesh-eating?"

"Yeah, that's what he said when he went after me." Addison trembles a bit. "…And the tall one took a few b-bites of my mother when he killed her."

"Right," Sam grimaces. "Did anything else stand out to you? Anything odd?"

"Just the way the tall one threw my bed like it was nothing," she says. "I don't know any humans who could do it one-handed like that."

Unfortunately, superhuman strength and the desire to feed on flesh doesn't really narrow it down. The fact that they appear or have the ability to appear human helps a bit more, but not by much. Before Sam can ask his next question, Dean kicks off from the wall, seemingly done letting Sam take the lead.

"What did they say to you? Try and tell us word for word."

"The one that went after me told me he was going to eat me." Addison's voice is just shy of inaudible. "He said he hadn't had live flesh in years because he was too afraid John would hunt him down like his father. He said something about how our deaths would help him kill John. The other one, he-" she shudders. "He mostly just screamed death threats."

"That helps," Sam says, making sure to smile at her encouragingly. "Our dad kept a record of all his hunts. We can check his journal and see if we can find a matching entry."

"Your… dad?"

"Yeah, I guess we forgot to mention it, but John was our father." Suddenly, Addison looks like she's swallowed a lemon. She opens her mouth like she's going to say something, but ends up shaking her head instead.

Dean, ever the suspicious one, immediately pounces. "What? You got something to say?"

Ducking her head, Addison mumbles something in response.

"What was that?" Curious now, Sam leans in for her answer.

"I, um," she sucks in a breath before continuing in a rush, "I'myourhalfsister."

* * *

 **Super 8 Motel | Addison**

" _What?!"_

I cringe at the overlapping shouts, wondering if I should have just kept my mouth shut. The only reason I said anything was to avoid problems in the future. But if the angry look on Dean's face is anything to go by, maybe I should be more worried about my immediate problems...

Then again, if the truth ever comes out – and knowing my luck, it most certainly will – it would look strange if I didn't react to the "revelation" that I have brothers. My plan to omit my own connection to John Winchester had been reliant on the fact that they omit theirs. I'd naively thought they'd have the sense to be more cautious with their identities.

Dean reaches over and grabs my upper arm, yanking me to my feet. "Look, I don't know what sick sort of game you're playing at, but-"

"Never mind," I cut him off quickly, suddenly remembering his tendency to 'shoot first, ask questions later.' "It's not important. Forget I said anything."

"No," he says. "You're going to explain yourself."

I look over at Sam for help but he's just staring at me expectantly, apparently just as eager for answers. "Fine," I mutter. "My mom says- _said,_ " I correct forcefully. "That John was my biological father. Twenty years ago, he was admitted to the hospital where my mom worked with a bunch of injuries he said he'd gotten in a hunting accident." I shrug a little. "Nine months later…"

Dean makes a disgusted sound and releases me so that he can run his hand over his face. "I don't believe this. He would never be so careless."

Apparently, Sam is less sure of their father. "Did he know?" he asks.

"About me?" He nods in confirmation. "Not at first. He came through town when I was twelve and my mom told him about me then."

Sam presses his lips together and nods, which sets his brother off. "Oh come on, Sam. You can't tell me you believe this shit?!"

"It's not that hard to believe, Dean. Dad wasn't exactly celibate."

"Hey," I cut in. "Regardless of whether or not you believe I'm John's kid – the bastard who killed my mom _does_. He's still out there, probably hoping I'll contact John so he can kill us both in one fell swoop."

"But he's already dead," Sam points out.

"Yeah, but I don't think our resident monster knows that. The other one was talking about using me and my mom to kill him, remember?"

"That actually works in our favor then," he says. "Seeing as he'll only be expecting one hunter." He pauses. "That is, so long as his partner's death didn't convince him to cut and run."

I shake my head. "Trust me, he was so angry that I don't think he'll be able to resist coming after me."

Dean makes a sound not unlike a growl. "Can we get back on topic?"

We both turn to look at the older hunter. "I thought we finally _were_ on topic," I mutter petulantly.

Sam sighs. "Look, Dean. We can worry about this after we kill the monster."

Dean makes an explosive gesture with his hands. "For all we know she is the monster!" He glares at me. "Is that it, huh bitch? You think you can pull one over on us?"

"Dean!"

"…Don't call me that." Suddenly I'm trembling all over and it takes me a minute to understand why. _Damn memories._ I shove them down and take a deep breath. "Just don't, okay? If you're not interested in helping, I'll go back to the police."

I try to move towards the door, but Sam's hand on my shoulder stops me. "Of course we're going to help you," he insists. "Right Dean?"

There's a low grumble from the man followed by an exasperated sigh. "Only if she passes the tests."

"Tests?" I ask.

A face full of water is my only answer.


	3. Chapter 3

**Super 8 Motel | Dean**

By the time Dean is reasonably sure they're not dealing with any sort of supernatural creature. The Milligan girl is aggrieved and Sam exasperated. He's just spent the last hour testing her while Sam looked into her background. So far, nothing has contradicted her story.

"Did you really have to _cut_ me?" she asks.

He opens his mouth to respond, but Sam, probably sensing the snippy comment, interjects, "A lot of creatures react badly to silver, but skin contact isn't always enough to make it apparent. We had to see if it reacted with your blood to make sure you weren't some sort of shifter."

She's still frowning, but she nods tersely at his brother to show she understands. "Well, now that that's out of the way – can we start thinking about how we're going to stop this thing from murdering me?"

Dean wants to snap at her, but the tangible fear in her voice holds him back. He turns to Sam. "I'm going to check out her house, see if they left a trail or some sort of hint as to what they are," he announces. "Give me a call if you find anything in Dad's journal or the local papers."

Sam, looking a little surprised by the sudden shift in attitude, nods slowly in response. They both know the information they need is probably in Dad's journal, if what Addison said about the hunt twenty years ago is true, but Dean needs to get out and clear his head. And Sam recognizes that. No doubt he'll call once he has the relevent information. Besides, a little extra investigation never hurts. That settled, Dean snatches his keys from the little table beside the bed and stalks out. He doesn't slam the door like he wants to, but he does let loose a string of expletives as soon as he's in his car.

"Really, Dad?" He mutters angrily, eyes directed upwards. "After all the times you lectured me about keeping it in my pants?" He starts his engine and peels out of the parking lot. "A _sister,_ " he scoffs. "As if we needed another innocent dragged into our mess."

It takes a little less than ten minutes to reach the address the girl had given on the phone the day before, probably thanks to his flexible interpretation of the local speed limits. A few neighbors are out and about doing yard work, so Dean decides to make use of their presence. They may have heard or seen something that could indicate who or what did this. The sooner he solves this case, the sooner he can deal with the girl's crazy claims.

With a sigh, he prepares himself to play the role of a concerned family member, trying not to think about the fact that it might actually be true.

* * *

 **Super 8 Motel | Sam**

The silence that springs up after Dean storms out is incredibly awkward. Sam isn't entirely sure how to break it. He should be focusing on the hunt, but he wants to ask about her relationship with his- _their_ dad. Simulataneously, he isn't sure he really wants to know. The little that had come out during Dean's interrogation had left him with a pit in his stomach.

Addison plucks at the bedspread, oblivious to his inner turmoil. "This is so weird," she says, not for the first time. "I can't believe I have older brothers." She glances up. "How old are you anyway?"

"Twenty-six."

She murmers "Huh," and goes back to picking at loose threads.

They fall into silence once more. A beat passes before Sam gets up and moves to the duffle bag in the corner of the room. _'I guess I might as well focus on the hunt.'_ He can't really justify procrastinating. Especially not with Dean out in the open and no idea _what_ they're hunting.

He flips through until he reaches the entries dated to what he's found online, Addison is freshly nineteen. So that means Dad must have come through sometime early the next year. With any luck, there will be a clear record as to what drew him to Minnesota in the first place, as well as what he found when he actually got there.

Sam skims the hunts for all of two minutes before he finds it. Or rather, doesn't find it. _'What the-?'_ He checks the following pages for anything any mention of the missing hunt, but doesn't find anything. _'He must have ripped the pages out when he found out about Addison, to reduce the risk of something going after her.'_ He glances at the girl in question, "Hey, I, uh, need to make a phone call. You okay if I step out for a second?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Thanks." Sam grabs his cell and room key before moving to the parking lot. Outside, he's half expecting to find Ruby even though they haven't talked. She's always turning up unexpectedly the minute he's on his own. He hesitates, just for a moment, but it looks like now isn't one of those times. He dials without looking.

"Yeah." His brother's voice is artifically deep, a sure sign that he's upset and trying to overcompensate.

"Hey Dean, I have some bad news." Sam barely waits for him to sigh before continuing, "I checked Dad's journal. On New Year's it mentions he's heading to Minnesota next, but Dad ripped the following pages out."

"...He _ripped_ them out?" The increduality is justified. Dad crossed things out all the time, but to remove pages entirely?

"Yeah. Looks like he didn't want anyone or anything tracing him back here." And it stings, knowing that another child of John Winchester was given the chance at a normal life that Sam had always dreamed of. He thought he was over it, knew there was no going back, but this knowledge makes him bitter all over again.

"Well that's just _great,_ " Dean snaps. "Real helpful."

"Dean-"

"You should ask her about the other times he came through town, see if there are other entries which corroborate her story," he suggests. "I find it hard to believe Dad visited on her _birthday_. Hell, half the time he couldn't even remember ours!"

The urge to groan is unbelievably strong, but Sam manages to hold it back. Barely. "Dean, I don't think she's lying."

"Yeah, maybe, maybe not. But I'm not just gonna take her at her word. Besides, Dad may have made a reference to the hunt back in '90 elsewhere in his journal." The sound of a door opening and closing sounds over the connection. "He 'found out' about her in what, 2002?" He doesn't wait for Sam to respond. "He might have missed something. Some small, throw away comment years later about whatever monster spawned the mini-me's that are causing trouble now."

"Right," Sam sighs, feeling exhausted. "I'll check. But Dean, you're going to have to consider the fact that she's telling the truth." The beeping that indicates his brother has hung up echoes in his left ear. _'That went... better than I was expecting, honestly.'_

When Sam returns to the room, Addison's head is cradled in her palms. She looks up at him briefly, opens her mouth, but then seems to think better of it. He could ask, but something about her thousand-yard stare makes him hestitate. He's dealt with a lot of traumatised individuals over the course of his life, but the idea that this might be his little sister... Well, he doesn't want to push if he doesn't have to.

In his experience, women connected to the Winchester family end up hurt or dead. And considering Addison's mother and her own near death just days ago, it doesn't seem like she's exempt. She deserves what kindness he can offer, even if she doesn't end up being an actual blood relative.

Leaving her be for now, he returns to the creaky armchair in the corner and scans Dad's entries carefully, checking the locations and the brief accounts. ' _Ghost hunt, rugaru, poltergeist...'_ Nothing in the rest of '90. Not surprising, if Sam's memory serves him correctly, they spent most of that year in the Southeastern U.S.

Addison's voice pulls him away from an account of a particularly nasty shifter. "So if this thing is the child of whatever monster was here twenty-years ago - would you be able to figure out what it is based off of old police reports?"

"Maybe," he admits. "It depends on how much law enforcement noticed at the time. A lot of monsters are surprisingly good at flying under the radar."

She nods. "Well, if you don't find anything in the papers to help, I have an idea for how to get access to the police reports from that time."

Sam raises an eyebrow, but Addison doesn't elaborate. "I'll keep it in mind," he says eventually. "Chances are though, this creature or another like it is probably mentioned somewhere in this journal." Just not where it should be, because of the girl across from him.

"Fair enough," she says, still not looking at him. A beat passes and then, "Want me to see if there's been anything in the local papers while you keep looking? My laptop is in my bag and I'd rather help than sit here, if it's all the same to you."

"Uh, sure." Sam wouldn't normally agree, considering the circumstances. Addison's only known about the supernatural for a few days, and she's just lost her mother on top of that. She doesn't know what to look for and she's not exactly a reliable resource. But she looks desperate for something to _do_. "I wouldn't mind the help." If she finds something, great. If not, well, he'll just have to take a look himself if Dad's journal doesn't pan out.

* * *

 **Milligan House | Dean**

The minute he gets off the phone with his brother, Dean goes back to searching the house. Nothing seems out of the ordinary on the lower floor, but no matter how much he wants to search the girl's room, it would be careless of him to move on without thoroughly checking anyway.

He checks doors, windows, even the pantries in the kitchen, but nothing unusual turns up. Whatever killed Kate Milligan, it left the ground floor alone.

Upstairs is a different matter entirely. While the hallway to his right looks normal, the first room on the left is missing a door. Only splintered wood is left, barely hanging on to the warped hinges. _'She was right about their strength,'_ he realizes grudgingly. It's a mark in her favor, but not one that he finds particularly convincing. Everything about this situation is too damn convenient for his tastes.

Resolving to worry about it after he ganks the monster, Dean tears down the bright yellow police tape blocking the doorway. What he finds inside isn't too far off from what he'd expected. Two pools of dark red blood. The one nearest to him is much larger, probably the woman's. Monsters - even the ones that look human - don't tend to bleed as much. They're more durable, on the whole.

The bed is overturned, along with an ironing board, but the iron itself is missing - probably in the evidence locker at the local police station. If he has time, he'll check it out. He needs to question the authorities anyway. For now though, he looks for something that will tell him what they're dealing with.

The blood is no help. It's still got a lingering metallic odor, just like the other stain. It's color is the same too. Still, just to be sure, he pulls out a silver knife and presses it to the carpet. _'Well, it was worth a shot.'_ Some of the more sensitive creatures leave behind skin or blood that evaporates in contact with silver.

The rest of the room is no help. A small suitcase in the corner, filled with neatly folded clothes, a mirror propped against the wall and splattered with blood... What he really needs to see is the body. And then he'll have to find some way to get ahold of the 911 recording. Those two pieces of evidence are less subjective. He can't afford to take a civilian at their word, let alone one that might have ulterior motives.

That in mind, he leaves the demolished bedroom and makes for the Impala with his head down. It's better if he leaves discretely. Earlier, he'd told the neighbors he was a cousin, here to pick up some clothes for Addison. It was how he'd managed to get his hands on a spare key. With any luck, they won't notice he's leaving empty handed.

If they do though, it's not the end of the world. He's got bigger fish to fry.


	4. Chapter 4

**Super 8 Motel | Addison**

Unfortunately for my peace of mind, I don't actually in finding anything useful in _Windom Weekly._ My mother's death is there, but no other crimes or even anything halfway strange. _Damn it_. I'm really starting to regret my waning interest in the show. If I could at least remember _this_ episode...

A quiet beep pulls me from my self-recrimation.

"It's Dean," Sam explains, eyes fixed on his phone. "He's heading to the police station next."

"So he didn't find anything at the house?"

"No, but don't worry. We'll get this thing." I'm not exactly reassured. There's still a chance I could die. Of course, it's a smaller chance than what I'd have on my own, but I can't bring myself to be grateful. Not until this monster is dead.

"Is there something else I can do to help?" I ask. "I didn't see anything in the local paper."

Sam hesitates. "I think Dean has it covered." He slips a receipt between the pages of the journal and gets up to join me on the bed. "When was the last time you slept?" he asks gently.

"I slept the night of the attack." Not well, but I'd slept. Last night, on the other hand, I'd holed up in the Porter's guest room with a kitchen knife. I'd been too terrified to sleep, convinced that the monster would return to finish me off before the brothers arrived. "It's not a big deal," I tell Sam. "I pull all-nighters all the time."

He doesn't argue. At least, not right away. Slowly, so I have time to stop him, he reaches out to shut my laptop. "You don't have to sleep. But maybe you can rest? Dean and I will keep you safe."

 _'Like you kept your girlfriend safe?'_ I don't say it aloud. Even in my grief I'm not that cruel. Still, I can't help but think it. The Winchesters don't exactly have the best track record with keeping the people close to them alive. Hell, they can barely keep themselves alive for more than a single season!

Aloud, I say, "I don't think I can."

He looks terribly sympathetic at my answer. "Please, give it try. You'll feel better if you do."

Despite the fact that he's six foot four and muscled, Sam is incredibly good at doleful eyes. He makes me feel guilty for worrying him, which is baffling because he's a stranger. I've never, in either life, cared for what strangers thought.

And yet I find myself being coaxed into lying down.

I stop fighting it. It's not as if he's wrong. I _should_ rest.

 _Maybe just for a minute or two?_ I think, eyes already slipping shut.

Big mistake. I get halfway through a nightmare where I'm aware and unable to move while insects eat my decomposing body. Then, suddenly, I'm crying and retching over the side of a too-soft bed.

"Shh. You're okay." Sam pats consolingly at my back. "You're safe." I try to scoff through my tears but I just end up coughing violently instead. "Shh, take a breath." He reaches around my waist and half-walks, half-carries me to the bathroom sink. "Here." Sam turns the water on and leaves me propped up against the off-white porcelain.

Inanely, I spare a moment to think about how disgusted I would usually be, touching things in a run-down motel. It helps a bit. Then Sam returns with his worried eyes and I feel broken all over again. He presses a tube of toothpaste into my hands and then reaches behind me for a towel. "You'll feel better once you rinse your mouth and wipe your face."

"Thanks." He's not wrong about that. Unfortunately, I know that his hovering will make it harder for me to wind down. "Do you mind waiting in the r-room while I..." I trail off, unsure of the right words in this instance. Collect myself? Shove all my emotions far away where they can't hurt me?

Luckily, he seems to get it. "Sure, I'll be right outside the door."

Nodding, I avert my eyes and reach for the toothpaste, only relaxing when the bathroom door shuts. I _hate_ it when other people see me cry or try to comfort me. It makes everything ten times worse. At least on my own I can force myself into some semblence of detached indifference.

I proceed to do just that. Surprisingly, staring into my own reflection as I rinse my mouth and wash my face helps. It reminds me that I'm not _Adam._ That I'm not doomed to die. The actor who played him on the show had only a passing resemblance to my younger brother, so I have even less of a resemblance. I'm a different person.

The fact that I'm alive right now proves it.

* * *

 **Police Station | Dean**

The local authorities easily believe the implication that the attack might be the work of a duo of seriel killers the FBI has been tracking for more than twenty years. They practically throw old case files at him when he asks, more than eager to pass off the responsibility. He wonders briefly if they've just never seen anything so violent in this small city, or if they've already realized they're at a loss as to how to catch the remaining culprit. He almost asks, but in the end it doesn't matter. He's not gonna look a gift horse in the mouth.

Unfortunately, nothing in either the recent or decades-old case files seems contected to what happened. No omens, no freaky disturbances, not even an uptick in violent crimes leading up to Kate Milligan's murder. And, just like Dean, they found no trace of the creature's trail. It jumped out the window and then seemingly disappeared.

It takes a nearly twenty minutes of searching before something finally catches his eye. _'That's strange.'_ One of the folders is thicker than the others. He picks it up and flicks through. Grave desecration, missing bodies... dozens of them. The crimes took place November of '89 through January of '90, when they stopped abruptly. No arrests. _'There was definitely a hunt here.'_ But it sounds like a ghoul, which doesn't really mesh with what happened to the Milligans.

 _'I really need to see that body.'_ He gets up and pokes his head through the door of the room they'd given him. "Hey, Dennis."

The Chief of Police ambles over. "What can I help you with?"

"I'm going to need a transcript of the 911 call emailed to my partner." He scribbles Sam's fake FBI contact information down and then holds up the file of police reports regarding missing bodies. "I'll also need a copy of this and directions to the hospital. I need to speak with the coroner."

Dennis easily agrees.

* * *

 **Coroner's Office | Dean**

"It's the damnedest thing," says Miller. "His bones, his skin, they're both tougher than average." He starts scribbling on his clipboard. "I wonder if whatever condition he had to cause it also triggered psychosis...?"

Dean listens with half an ear as the doctor continues to ramble. Stronger, flesh-eating, human appearance, tougher skin, death upon the destruction of the head... Combine that with the missing bodies twenty years ago? All he can think of is ghoul. That doesn't quite fit though, ghouls are scavengers - dirty and disgusting - but not usually violent. They don't eat the living. Not to mention there have been no new reports of grave desecration.

Still, he can't rule it out. It wouldn't be the first time a monster has changed its M.O. That, or he's looking at some kind of genetic cousin. Like dogs to wolves, or ghouls to... _zombies?_ Yeah, if this is some kind of new breed, he's totally calling them zombies.

* * *

 **Super 8 Motel | Sam**

It's almost two o'clock when Dean finally returns. Addison is still awake, but barely, sprawled on her stomach on Sam's bed. She hasn't spoken more than a word or two since she walked out of the bathroom with red eyes and trembling lips.

"What did you find?" Sam asks, keeping his voice low.

Dean purses his lips in Addison's direction before responding. "I'm not a hundred percent sure, but all signs point to ghoul."

"What?" That doesn't make sense. "But I thought they only ate-"

"Dead people, right." Dean pinches the bridge of his nose. "I know it doesn't make much sense, but everything else fits." He gives Sam a quick rundown on what he's found. "-so it's either a rogue ghoul, or something closely related."

Sam frowns and rakes a hand through his hair. "How are we gonna find it?"

Dean's eyes dart towards the bed. "Well, we already know what it wants. Why don't we give it to him?"

"Dean-"

"You want me to be bait?" Apparently, Addison wasn't as out of it as he'd thought.

Sam shakes his head. "We'd never force you to do that. We'll find some other way."

"I'll do it."

 _"What?"_ Both he and Dean say it at the same time.

"If it's the best way to kill this thing, I'll do it." She's sitting up now, hands clenched in the striped bedspread. "But I don't want to be at this things mercy, so I'll need some sort of insurance." She glances at Sam and seems to pick up on his confusion. "Like a weapon?" she tries. "Or some sort of escape route if you can't kill it?"

Dean's already nodding. "Yeah, I can work with that."

" _Dean._ " Sam grabs his brother by the upper arm. "Can I talk to you outside?" He doesn't wait for an answer. "Addison, we'll be right back." That said, he yanks him out of the room and shuts the door. "Dean, what the fuck?"

"What?" His brother shakes him off, rubbing exageratedly at his arm.

"Addison might be our _sister_ and you want to use her as bait?!"

"Christ, Sam. Stop acting like it's a done deal." He shoves ineffectually at Sam's chest. "Until I see a freakin' blood test this is just another hunt!" His jaw is clenched. "Right now, she's a victim. Same as all the others. Sure, she has this fucked up idea that our dad might be her dad too, but what the hell does she know? Maybe her mom was wrong. Maybe she lied to her. She's just a stupid kid."

Sam sighs through his nose. It's a challenge to keep is temper under control. "Dean, she's nineteen and she doesn't strike me as stupid. You know as well as I do that everything else she said has checked out." He jerks his head at the room behind them. "You wanna know what else? Dad believed it too."

"You don't know that!"

"The hell I don't!" Sam took a breath, tried again. "While you were gone I finished with the journal. All the times she said he came through town? One-word entries. _Minnesota._ That's it. Nothing else." The look on Dean's face is mulish. "Dean, he ripped out a hunt to keep her safe. He _visited_ her. He wouldn't have done that unless he was sure."

Finally, some of what he's saying seems to get through. Dean looks away first, eyes suspiciously shiny.

Sam knows he's not wrong. But suddenly he wishes he was.


	5. Chapter 5

**Super 8 Motel | Dean**

"So how's this going to work?"

They're back in the room now. He and Sam aren't looking at each other, but that's par for the fucking course at this point.

"We're going to head back to your house," Sam says slowly, clearly thinking it through. "The motel's not a good place for a trap. There's no guarantee it can find you here and we certainly don't want to involve any outsiders or innocents that it can use as leverage." She nods in agreement and he continues, "We'll make it seem as though we're relatives, in town to keep you company and help you in the wake of your mother's death." Sam cringes as he says it, but even Dean feels bad when he catches sight of the utterly lost expression on her face. If she is pulling one over on them, she's a damn good actress.

"Go on," she says, trying and failing to appear unaffected. "I'm not gonna break. I owe it to my mom to make sure this thing ends up six feet under."

And hell, if that isn't a sentiment Dean can get behind. In any other situation, he might actually _like_ this kid.

Dean listens with half an ear as Sam lays out the bare bones of a plan. They're going to assume the creature-ghoul- _thing_ doesn't know about them. It had only mentioned John in the transcript of the 911 call, so it's a fairly safe bet. He and Sam will act the part of concerned relatives and lie in wait for it to attack. They'll have to be discrete with their weapons, but that's not much of a handicap. Most hunts require a bit of discretion.

"...Do the police have any idea how it broke in the first time?"

It takes Dean a moment to realize the question is directed his way. "No. And I didn't see any signs of forced entry either, just damage to the bedroom where the attack took place." He hesitates, then admits, "I didn't finish my search of the top floor, so take that with a grain of salt." It's sloppy work, but he's not in the best headspace at the moment.

Sam takes this in stride. Mostly. He only glares at Dean a little before turning back to the kid. "Addison, are there any ways in or out of your house that might not be obvious to someone else? A crawlspace with access to the yard? A renovated room or hall that might've left space between the walls?"

"No. Not that I'm aware."

"Okay, well, is there any room in the house that has only one entrance or exit?"

She starts to shake her head, then stops mid-motion, seemingly considering it. "Um, maybe the laund-" she cuts herself off. "No, nevermind, there's a window." Her hands flutter a bit. She'd done it earlier too. Dean files it away as a nervous tic. "The only thing I can think of is the office, right off the garage. It's only got the one door and no windows." Quirking her lips in what might be an attempt at a smile, she adds, "We hardly ever use it. To be honest, it's kind of dreary."

"Okay. That's a good place to start." His brother gestures between them. "We'll make it a home base of sorts. If the ghoul is as angry as you say, it's bound to return. When it does, we'll stop it long before it gets anywhere near you. You'll be perfectly safe."

"Are you sure it will come?" she asks. "I mean, with the two of you there? It ran off when my neighbors arrived. It's clearly not willing to take a chance against multiple oponents."

Now that they're discussing the particulars of how they're going to kill this thing, Dean doesn't feel quite so removed from the situation. He answers, ignoring the surprised look on Sam's face. "If it doesn't come after you tonight, we'll come up with a plan to make it seem as though we've left you alone."

"Right," Sam says, still looking bemused. "But that'll be plan B. We don't want to put you at risk any more than we have to."

She nods at them. "Just tell me what to do." The lost expression from before is gone, along with the jittery hands. Now, she just looks resolved.

It's a shame she's either a liar or his sister.

* * *

 **Super 8 Motel | Addison**

Twenty minutes later and I'm still sitting on the shitty motel bed, watching the brothers. Apparently, the most helpful thing I can do is stay out of the way, at least for the time being.

It's hard to believe that my survival depends on these two. They look so _normal_ , even with the weapons and the ungodly amount of salt. A part of me can't help but see them as actors, playing a role.

"Once we finish packing our weapons we'll swing by the diner to get your car." Sam dumps the last of his clothes out on the coffee table and starts replacing the empty space in his duffel with the guns and knives that his brother retrieved from their car. "Whether this thing is a ghoul or not, we want to make sure it knows that you're home."

"Right." I'm not paying more than the bare minimum of attention to him. Basic logic is not beyond me, so I'm not entirely sure why he feels the need to explain the reasoning behind every step of the plan. Maybe it's an attempt to distract me? Or keep me focused solely on the task at hand? Either way, it's not helping. Honestly, seeing as they're the experts, I'm inclined to do whatever they say, no questions asked. Anything to make sure this _ghoul_ ends up dead.

Dean, on the other hand, has been quiet. He hasn't spoken much other than to answer Sam's infrequent questions. In fact, he still looks like he might be ill. He's been a bit green around the gills since the last time I spoke. At first I thought it was just the reality of the situation sinking in, but now I'm not so sure.

"Are you okay?" _Shit._ The words are out without my conscious input. It's a habit. One that I immediately regret. Dean's the one who thinks I'm a monster or a liar. One wrong move and he might eviscerate me. I should've kept quiet.

Both he and Sam do a double take, looking at me like I'm crazy. I can relate. "You know," I say, trying to catch up with my big fat mouth. "With all the... drama." They're still silent, so I keep going, "I mean, I barely knew John, and finding out he had a whole other family was still a shock! I can't imagine..." _Stop talking you idiot._ I shut my mouth. "Never mind."

A beat passes.

"...I'm fine," he says belatedly. "Honestly, kid. You've got the shittier deal here. _We_ grew up knowing about monsters."

It's a surprisingly noncombative overture. Enough so that I feel safe to respond. "That doesn't sound like the better deal. God knows I'd have had all sorts of neuroses had I grown up knowing monsters were real." He raises an eyebrow and I shrug. "Sure, the shock sucks. But eight-year-old me would have stabbed anyone who looked at me funny if I'd known _shapeshifters_ were real."

His mouth quirks briefly, then the expression is gone almost as quickly as it appeared. It's the closest I've gotten to a positive emotion from him since we met. Honestly, between his earlier antagonism and Sam's cloying compassion. I can't decide which brother is more annoying.

"Here," Dean takes something from his bag and tosses it my way. "Stabbing is exactly the kind of reaction you'll want to go with." The sheathed knife I'd reflexively caught is somewhere between four and five inches long. I stare at it dumbly as he throws his bag over his should and nods to Sam. "Now let's go. We've got a monster to kill."

* * *

 **Impala | Sam**

Their second trip together by car is only slightly less awkward than the first. It would've been worse, now that the whole sister thing is out in the open, but Sam manages to break it every so often with inane comments about the hunt. It's ostensibly for Addison's benefit, but he can tell she's only barely tuning in. Mostly, he's trying not to think about what happens after.

If they all come out of this alive, they'll go to a lab or a clinic capable of determining familial relationships. Sam knows Dean. His brother needs hard proof before he'll accept the truth. After that is where it gets tricky.

Will their newfound sister want nothing to do with them? Sam wouldn't blame her. It's Dad's fault that she's in this mess to begin with. She might just decide they're more of the same: dangerous men who only bring trouble.

Worse, she might want to learn more about their world. It happens sometimes. There are people who want to move on and forget, and there are those that _can't._ Addison, for all her obvious trauma, seems more like the latter. He might be wrong. He _hopes_ he's wrong. Unfortunately, her willingness to play bait says otherwise.


	6. Chapter 6

**Impala (Sully's Parking Lot) | Dean**

The minute the girl climbs out of the car, Dean's shoulders drop. _Christ._ He hadn't even realized how tense he was until just then. He glances over to see if Sam's going to say anything about it, but it doesn't look like his brother is paying attention. Actually, now that he's looking, he realizes that he's not the only one feeling high-strung. Sam's hands are clenched in his lap, his jaw is tight, and a familiar vein is pulsing in his forehead.

"Shit, Sam. You okay?"

"Fine." His voice cracks and he clears it hastily. "I'm fine," he repeats.

"...You don't look fine."

The glare he receives in response is venomous. "Since when do you want to talk about feelings?"

Dean looks away, pretending to be focused on following the silver sedan in front of them. "I don't, but if it's gonna effect the hunt, you need to spit it out or shove it down."

Sam lets loose a humorless laugh. "God, Dean. Do you even realize how fucked up you sound?"

"Hey! I may be fucked up, but I don't let it get in the way of what really matters."

Strangely, instead of snapping back, his brother seems to fold in on himself. "You're right. We need to focus on keeping Addison safe."

Dean blinks in surprise. Maybe he's not the only one thrown for a loop. Earlier, he'd thought that Sam was too nonchalant about the possibility that they might have a sister. This strange and sudden moodiness is almost a relief. It makes him feel less like he's overreacting and more like he's got someone else who understands how _crazy_ this is.

"Look," he says, trying to sound sympathetic. "I'm not going to pretend to believe her - not when we don't have proof." Never mind all the evidence Sam had pointed out when they were arguing outside the motel room. "But I'm not gonna let a girl die just because she might be misinformed." He's given up on calling her liar. Sam doesn't want to hear it, and even he doesn't really believe it anymore. "We'll save her."

"And then what?" Sam shakes his head roughly at the confusion on Dean's face. "What happens after that? Will someone or some _thing_ else target her just because she has the misfortune of being related to us?"

Dean's hands clench. He can't say the thought hadn't crossed his mind, but mostly he's been ignoring the implications until he knows for sure. "We'll find a way to keep her safe," he says eventually. "Just like with anyone else." Over the years, they've given plenty of people tips for how to spot and avoid monsters. "As long as we warn her about the need to keep quiet, no one will find out about any connection."

"The ghouls found out."

"That's different. They were here twenty years ago. Since then they've probably been keeping an eye on the area. Once we kill the last one-"

"What if there are more? What if they spread the information?" Sam runs a hand through his too-long hair as Dean pulls down the residential street that leads to the girl's house. "She's in danger. More danger than she realizes. Forget the ghoul. You know the demons wouldn't stop if they knew about her."

"Sam..." He doesn't want to think about this. He doesn't need any more guilt. "Let's worry about it later. Now's not the time."

They sit in tense silence for the short remainder of their drive, not saying a word to one another as they get out to meet with Addison in her driveway. Dean can only hope this is over with quickly. He and Sam don't have the best track record with unresolved issues on hunts.

* * *

 **Milligan House | Addison**

"Are you sure this will work?" I ask quietly, clutching a stick lighter and a can of hairspray in my hands. The knife that Dean gave me is hidden away at the small of my back. "Because I really don't want to end up as this thing's next meal."

"You won't," Sam says, barely pausing his meticulous arrangement of weapons. He's hiding them in every room, so that no matter where the monster shows up, they won't be unarmed. "Even if fire isn't one of its fatal weaknesses, it'll work as a deterrent." He claps me on the shoulder. "Besides, Dean and I have plenty of experience. Chances are it won't get anywhere near you."

I glance over at his brother, who's making a pointed effort to avoid looking at me as he checks the doors and windows. "Right," I say doubtfully. "I think I'll just grab a few things while you two... set up." I may have showered and changed at the Porter's place, but it'll be nice to wear my own clothes and brush my teeth with an actual toothbrush instead of a finger.

I turn to make my way upstairs, but before I can, Dean steps in front of me. "Wait a second," he says, looking over me to Sam. "We shouldn't let her go alone. It may already be watching the house."

Sam nods. "You go with her. I'll finish setting up down here." I want to point out that his brother is less than fond of me, and that one or two cordial sentences between us does not mean we're suddenly getting along, but I can't work up the courage. It sounds immature, even in my head.

Dean frowns - probably thinking the same thing, but doesn't argue either. Instead, he pulls out his gun and gestures for me to follow.

"Jesus." Despite expecting it, I can't help but be shocked. My bedroom is a wreck. What's left of the door is barely hanging on its hinges, there are bloodstains on the floor, and my bed is overturned. The only things missing are the two dead bodies.

I do my best to block it all out, rummaging through my closet and suitcase.

"Need any help?"

I hesitate, wondering if it's a sincere offer. When he says nothing more I shake my head. "No, I'm good, thanks." I gather everything up, thankful that most of my essentials were still in my suitcase. The less time in this room the better. "Let's head back downst-" I'm cut off by the sound of a heavy thud in the hallway outside my room.

Dean immediately runs to check it out, leaving me to follow at a much slower pace.

I arrive on the scene just in time for Sam to gasp, _"Help!"_ through the vice grip the creature has on his throat.

The creature curses, then uses its leverage to slam Sam's head it into the wall. I wince, stepping forward to do... _something_ , but Dean beats me to it. He bodyslams the creature - the ghoul - away from his brother. Immediately he starts whaling on it, using his handgun as a bludgeon along with his left fist. I loose a moment to staring in horrified awe, but then I remember Sam.

"Oh my gosh, are you okay?" I crouch at his side and try ineffectually to pull him to his feet. He's _heavy_. "Sam?"

"Need the knife," he tells me, voice hoarse. "Dropped it when it got me from behind."

I glance around, vaguely remembering the serrated knife he'd brought in with the guns earlier. "I don't see-" I cut myself off. "Oh." It's on the floor, just past where Dean is wrestling with the ghoul. "One sec," I say, hardly believing what I'm about to do. I stand slowly, trying not to draw attention. Sam frowns and makes as if to pull me back down, but the blow to his head must have really dazed him because he misses by a mile. "I'll be fine," I assure him. "...Probably."

"No wait-!" I ignore Sam and start to slowly move closer to the fight. Luckily, both participants are too focused on each other to notice me. At least at first. I make it nearly all the way past them before the ghoul, having scored a solid hit to Dean's chest, uses its momentary repreive to reach for my foot.

I stomp hard on its fingers and then draw back with my right foot to kick its skull like I would a soccer ball. Its head snaps back, giving me my first clear view of its face.

 _"Mom!?"_


	7. Chapter 7

**Milligan House | Addison**

 _'You knew they could take on the appearance of people they'd killed,'_ I remind myself.

Unfortunately, the thought does very little to quell my rising panic. How can it? My mother's face is twisted in pain, her voice hoarse as she pleads, "Addie, _help me!"_ I watch in muted horror as Dean fights to both maintain his leverage and angle his handgun. Slowly, the barrel creeps towards her face. My mom's, no, the ghoul's struggles grow steadily more frantic, but by now Sam has crawled forward to restrain its arms. "No! No _no-_ stop! _Pl-_ "

 _Bang._

I flinch and close my eyes, unwilling to look. "Addison! _Watch out!"_

Startled by Sam's shout, I've barely got my eyes open again when the bloodied figure barrels into me. The momentum sends me slamming into and over the banister at the top of the stairs, only my death grip on the bars preventing me from falling down to the first floor. The ghoul continues past as if I hadn't even been there, skittering towards the master bedroom in a distinctly inhuman manner.

Dean, blood-splattered and furious, storms after it, leaving Sam to help me over the railing and to my feet. "You alright?"

"Yeah."

"Good, get downstairs and lock yourself in the office. Don't come out until we tell you to. Got it?"

I nod and we each race in separate directions, him for my mom's room and me downstairs. I've just got the door to the office shut behind me when I hear both brothers shout my name. It doesn't take long to find out why.

The ghoul disguised as my mother unfolds eerily as it climbs out from the vent in the corner. The bullet has left a deep gash across its scalp, just above my mother's ear. It spits blood on the carpet and advances slowly. "Couldn't even call the right hunter, could you? Whatever, I'll kill you. That'll have to be enough." The grin it wears is psychotic. "I've heard the death of a child is much worse than that of a parent."

"Fuck." I don't bother trying to fight. Heart in my throat, I scramble for the door.

"Not so fast, _Addie."_

My head is forced back when the ghoul snags my pony tail in its bloody hands. "Ah!" I'm forced to follow the motion or risk having hair and skin torn from my scalp. In the background, I can hear the brothers stampeding down the stairs, still calling my name.

"I hope this hurts." The ghoul tells me, opening my mother's mouth and leaning in.

As it nears my throat, I blindly reach for the knife at the small of my back. It's still sheathed when I swing it around to jab at my mother's face. Fortunately, ghouls dislike being jabbed in the eyes almost as much as humans. It rears back, one hand still tangled in my hair, and gives me just enough slack to unsheath the blade.

The moment the blade is free, I grab the wrist of the hand holding my hair and slam the knife straight through. The ghoul releases me at once, just in time for Sam to kick in the door. He and Dean are on the creature between one breath and the next.

This time, when Sam secures it, Dean doesn't miss.

Caught somewhere between lingering panic and heart wrenching relief, I back up until I reach the wall. It gives me just enough support that when my knees buckle, I don't immediately topple to the ground. I slide down instead, coming to a stop with my legs folded awkwardly beneath me.

 _'I'm alive,'_ I realize. I'd been worried. I'd told the brothers as much as I could without revealing knowledge I had no reasonable explanation for - leaving out the shapeshifting aspect - but it didn't matter. They figured it out anyway. They'd still saved me.

I wasn't going to lose another life.

* * *

 **Milligan House | Sam**

Sam scrubs at his face with his sleeve and bemoans the fact that, nine times out of ten, it's _him_ that gets covered in viscera. It had taken all of his strength to restrain the ghoul, so he hadn't been able to turn away when Dean pulled the trigger. Their job would be so much easier if monsters had the decency to disintigrate or turn to dust when they died.

"Sam." Dean jerks his head to the right and stares at him expectedly. Sam follows his gaze-

"Oh," he says softly, having all but forgotten about her. To be fair, being covered in brain is quite distressing. Sam has just taken two steps towards her shaking form when a loud and insistent banging makes them all jump.

"Addie?! Are you okay? We thought we heard shouting."

Instantly, Addison is up and moving. "I'm fine," she calls. She jogs out of the office and he and Dean are forced to follow as she approaches the front door.

"Can you open up? We want to make sure."

"Yeah, just a sec." She spins around and narrows her eyes. "Sam," she whispers urgently, gestering at her face pointedly. "Go hide in the kitchen."

Reluctantly, he retreats. He hopes to god Dean has one of his better cover stories prepared, because the last thing they need is to be blamed for Kate Milligan's second murder.

He keeps an ear pressed to the wall between the kitchen and the front hallway. The front door groans as it opens. "Sorry," he hears her say. "I sliced my hand with a box cutter while I was packing things up. Had to grab something to stop the bleeding."

 _'Was she bleeding?'_ Sam wonders, suddenly guilty he hadn't noticed.

"Oh no! Are you okay?" It's another woman's voice this time, presumably the wife of the man who'd shouted through the door.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she assures them. "It's minor. Besides, my cousin is pretty well-versed in first aid."

"Kirk, right?"

"Yeah," Dean says, low and uncomfortable.

The voice turns slightly accusing. "Didn't you say earlier that you were stopping by to pick things up for her so she didn't have to come back here until that cleaning crew came through?"

"I-"

"It's my fault." Addison cuts his brother off. "I didn't tell him where everything was. Then I realized it would be easier if I just got it myself."

"Oh, Addie," the woman says, "You know you could have called one of us."

"I know, but you've already helped me so much..."

"It's honestly no trouble. Are you going to be staying with us again tonight?"

"No. I've got a room at the Hyatt."

"Did you tell the police? You know they've been patrolling the street. If you're there instead, they'll need to warn the hotel staff to be on the look out for anyone strange."

"I know, I'll tell them." Addison's tone has shifted into something obviously strained. A far cry from the confident, reassuring tone she'd started with. Sam starts angling towards the doorway. There's not much he can do to help, not without giving them all away, but he still has the urge to watch. If he's careful he'll be able to get both Addison and Dean into view without revealing himself to the couple on the stoop. _'There!'_ "Look," Addison says, switching gears abruptly. "I've still got a lot to pack up - since I don't want to come back here unless I have to - and I should probably get back to it."

Dean is giving her the mother of all side eyes, but the couple at the door takes her at face value. "Okay, I guess we'll leave you to it," the man says.

There's a quick exchange of goodbyes and then finally the door shuts.

"I can't believe they bought it," Dean says incredulously.

"Yeah, well, we're lucky that they didn't hear the gunshots." Sam steps out from the kitchen and quickly approaches. "Addison, let me see your hand."

"What? _Oh,_ " she drops the scarf she'd hastily wrapped around her left hand. "It's not mine. It's from when I stabbed the ghoul. I just needed an explanation for the blood."

Both he and Dean exchange baffled looks. "When did you stab it?"

"Just before you broke the door down. I needed it to release me." She steps away from them both, voice still flat. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to shower. In the meantime, you two can grab the gray rug from the garage and wrap up the body. We'll need to dispose of it before the actual cleaning crew comes through." That said, she walks off.

Dean is the first to speak in the wake of her absence. _"What."_

Sam nods, equally thrown. That was not a reaction he's used to seeing from civilians. "She must really be related to us," he jokes. "That, or she's got some serious issues."

"Hey," his brother interjects. "It's not like the two are mutually exclusive."

They both laugh a little, and if it's slightly hysterical, well, that's their business.


End file.
